


Broken Wings

by mens_enim_formicularum



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Study, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Identity Issues, Loss of Identity, conversation between dave and davesprite shouldnt remind me of hal and dirk, forgot to mention this is a character study, god its been so long since ive read any serious homestuck fanfic, homestuck in 2021, i cant escape, i hate the suggested davesprite tags!!!!, i thought i was done with this shit, ive given up on actual plot, oh shit, this might have some inaccuracies but canon is dead, this should maybe be good-ish i care about davesprite, timeline bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:34:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28499127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mens_enim_formicularum/pseuds/mens_enim_formicularum
Summary: When a bird is taken into captivity, its flight feathers are trimmed to prevent its escape. They can grow back of course, and it’s a very painless experience.It’s less painless when you cut their entire wing.
Kudos: 9





	Broken Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck it, homestuck fic in 2021. i dont kin this bitch i promise /s   
> also its 2:30 am so this really isnt well written so you can fucking suffer.

Davesprite. 

Davesprite.

_Davesprite_. 

His name was Dave. It wasn’t any longer of course, but it had been. The pseudonym felt odd, clunky on his tongue. 

Looking in the mirror was strange as well. For one, well. He was fucking orange. So that was a big change. 

He also had wings. And no legs. 

Everything was wrong about his body- it wasn't bad, of course, but it wasn’t him anymore. 

He wasn't himself at all anymore. 

It took so long to grow accustomed to it all. He wasn’t Dave anymore, but instead Dave’s sprite. He was a tool. He had little freedom, simply there to help Dave do what had to be done. 

When he fought Jack Noir, he lost a wing.

When a bird is taken into captivity, its flight feathers are trimmed to prevent its escape. They can grow back of course, and it’s a very painless experience. 

It’s less painless when you cut their entire wing. 

The blood had been sticky and slick and burning hot on his fingers when he grasped at the bloody stump of his wing. His speckled ginger feathers grew dark, almost black, as his blood seeped across what was left of his wing, saturating it fully and dripping in excess. 

It hurt so terribly, he couldn't remember how exactly it felt if he tried. But he remembered screaming, sobbing into his shaking fingers and grasping anything to manage his pain.

It hurt less when it grew back, but it was far more psychologically scarring. The bones writhed under taught breaking skin and thin scrappy feathers, new specks of scarlet showing in places where the tension became too much. He watched with slack-jawed horror as his body changed and moved without any conscious attempt at such. He noticed too late he had been crying, sticky warm streaks of salinity tracking down his cheeks. 

That was when he had his first panic attack. 

There were more as time went on of course, as things went wrong, as people died, as he was hurt time and time again. 

He was shaking, breath raspy and stinging. Nobody was there to hold him, to tell him it was okay. 

He almost thought it symbolic of freedom or a release from his captivity, but that wasn't quite right- he was still trapped as himself. He could never be Dave. He was, but he wasn’t. It tore him apart, not having any solid identity other than ‘not Dave’ and ‘not _not_ dave.’ 

Jade was, in the end, regrettably detrimental to any formation of an identity. 

He cared for her, he really did, but he wasn’t Dave. He wasn’t anyone to be frank. He wasn’t himself. 


End file.
